It was the following day, early in the morning. People were already starting to head out to the neighboring businesses, and the traffic of carriages and horses was already visible from the window.
Bonnie sat in front of the mirror, looking at herself with a heavy expression. She was covering the dark circles from the night before with a light dusting of face powder beneath her eyes.
She glanced toward the window when she heard the steam engines firing up outside, and exhaled slowly.
'I don't want to do this. I don't even like makeup—but if I don't…'
Everything was already laid out and waiting. There was makeup, a pretty Victorian yellow dress, and a set of jewels that would put Bonnie's social standing on full display—but she had no desire to wear any of it like some circus performer getting ready to put on a show for everyone else.
She stared at herself in the mirror with a quiet sadness and felt that this layer of makeup was nothing but a mask to hide her desperation.
She put the small gold earrings in, clasped the embarrassing pearl necklace that sat on the table beside the cosmetics, slipped on the delicate silver bracelet, and picked up the yellow parasol leaning against the side of the bed.
'Fine… That's everything. At least with this I shouldn't look quite so pathetic.'
She walked to the door—her boots clicking against the wooden floor—and waited there patiently for the lock to be undone.
'I feel like the longer this goes on, the more I become Bonnie Jones. It's as if everything I was before I came to this world is slowly merging with this girl's soul. I don't know if that's a bad thing, but I know it's having a real effect on how I feel. And besides… I don't even like men!'
A crooked smile tugged at her lips alongside that thought.
Strangely enough, that was the one part of himself that hadn't changed since sharing a body with Bonnie.
A moment later the lock clicked and the door swung open, revealing the same woman from the day before—only now dressed in black. As though she were in mourning. Fitting, for the occasion.
"Miss Jones, your carriage is waiting."
Bonnie moved the same way she had the night before—in silence, with a melancholy air that seemed to seep into everyone around her.
She stepped outside the hotel, where a gentleman in a top hat was waiting beside a mechanical carriage built from copper and lacquered black wood. It was pulled by a single horse, but the chassis had four large exhaust tubes running out the back through which the burning coal's smoke poured out, along with gears barely peeking through the woodwork—a so-called cutting-edge modern machine.
'Looks like my father spared no expense for this—it's still a prototype from his own company. It's like he's desperate to marry me off to a rich old man.'
She ignored the driver of the strange steam-powered vehicle and climbed into the passenger cabin. The driver took his position up front, gripped the steering mechanism alongside the horse's reins, and threw the lever forward.
From the window, Bonnie watched her direct path toward her next personal hell and waited to arrive with a blank, vacant expression.
━━━━━✧❃✧━━━━━
The theater had only been built a few months ago, thanks to the advances of steam-powered machinery and badly underpaid labor. It was a large wooden venue, decorated in loud colors meant to imitate the gray stone brick of European architecture.
The carriage stopped there and Bonnie stepped out, planting her parasol on the ground.
Her father was waiting at the theater entrance alongside that man—Caleb Graves, the magnate behind the El Camino railroad company and practically the owner of the neighboring county. A disgustingly wealthy man.
He wore all white, as though he were trying to be a lantern that drew every eye in the room—but he also had a golden revolver strapped to a black leather belt.
His eyes were black and his hair a dark, ashy black. The smile on his slightly lined face showed off a gold tooth.
At first glance, Bonnie felt a wave of revulsion—but she had to keep it off her face if she didn't want trouble with her father.
"Good morning, Father. Good morning, Mr. Graves," said Bonnie, giving a brief curtsy.
Her father smiled, satisfied, and Caleb looked thoroughly charmed by the young Bonnie's elegance.
"Hello, Bonnie. Still as beautiful as ever," said Caleb in a slightly raspy voice.
He reached out his white-gloved hand and ran it along Bonnie's cheek.
At the same time, Nicholas gave Caleb a pointed look, directing Bonnie to do what a proper lady does when accompanying a powerful man.
'I hate this…'
But she had no choice. She stepped closer to Caleb and looped her arm through his.
"A new singer is coming in from the other side of the country today to inaugurate the theater. I'm certain you'll love the show, Caleb," said Nicholas.
Caleb laughed.
"I doubt she'll be as impressive as the acts they put on in my city."
"You never change, do you, man."
Ignoring Bonnie entirely, the two men laughed as they made their way inside. There were plenty of other people heading into the theater too, which meant the singer was likely quite well-known.
Inside the theater—rows upon rows of long, plush red seats filling the hall—the group ended up in the premium section elevated above all the others. Bonnie sat behind the two men, which at least gave her a moment to breathe.
The show began when the lights dimmed alongside the steam engines.
It was an opera concert.
'I like opera. Well—Bonnie likes it. And this would actually be a lovely experience if it weren't for the person sitting a few feet away from us.'
There wasn't much of a way out of this situation. Actually, there was no way out at all.
The singer took the stage. She was a strikingly pale woman dressed in flowing white robes that made her look like a saint from an old story—the kind who sang to lost travelers and forgave the wicked.
She performed several songs, but the most striking was about a saint who became a legend. That saint carried out every manner of task in the name of the world's unknown divinities, hoping one day to stand at their side.
When he finally achieved it, he collapsed under his own weight—and under the weight of every miracle people had ever asked of him.
It was the tragic story of a man who, even after getting everything he desired, didn't feel any better for it. Instead, he felt exhausted by the burden of being a legend—a true god, riding through the darkness of night alongside the other gods.
That was the only song in the entire show that truly caught Bonnie's attention, because the tragedy itself—and the saint's existential crisis—had somehow found its way straight into her damsel's heart.
When the performance ended, Bonnie found herself outside the theater with her father and Mr. Graves.
"Bonnie, Mr. Graves will escort you back to the hotel. I have to deal with some matters that came up at the main mine, so I'll be tied up until tonight."
'Please, Father… Don't leave me alone with this man.'
Her thoughts were one thing. Her words were another.
"I understand, Father."
"And—Caleb, you watch over her with your life. She's not just my daughter. She's your future wife."
The man laughed.
"Relax, man. She's already family," said Caleb, placing both hands on Bonnie's small shoulders.
She recoiled inside, but once again had to keep it buried so as not to make things worse for herself.
'I just have to put up with this a little longer and it'll all be over.'
"Yes, of course. I'll see you both tonight," said Nicholas, breaking away from the pair and climbing into another carriage.
An uncomfortable silence settled between Bonnie and Caleb. She shrugged inwardly and did her best to pretend the man didn't exist—but he already had other ideas.
"Well then, no point wasting time, Bonnie. Let me help you up into the carriage."
He extended his hand for her to take—but now that her father was gone, Bonnie simply looked at Caleb with barely concealed disgust before climbing into the mechanical carriage on her own.
Caleb was left standing there with his hand outstretched, staring at nothing, while Bonnie waited for the driver to move and leave that clown behind. But of course it was only a matter of time before the old man climbed in after her.
He got in and sat beside her. The carriage rolled forward as he tried to make conversation as though they were old friends.
'Why won't he just shut up? Go straight to hell…'
As a properly raised young lady, Bonnie couldn't let that kind of language out anywhere other than inside her own head. Besides—even if she screamed every insult she knew at him, nothing would change unless she actually did something about it.
They reached the hotel quickly enough.
When the carriage stopped, Bonnie pushed the door open and, without so much as a glance at Caleb, made her way back to her room.
She hoped the man would give up and walk away when he saw how coldly she'd dismissed him—but she was too angry at herself and at the world to notice that Caleb was following right behind her.
She climbed the stairs to her floor, and just as she was about to grab the doorknob and lock herself inside, Caleb's hand closed around the handle first.
He threw the door open and shoved Bonnie violently into the room, sending her stumbling forward—she barely managed to catch herself before hitting the floor.
"You insufferable little brat! I've had enough of you!" Caleb shouted as he kicked the door shut behind him.
Bonnie didn't have time to react. Her slim, slight body was hurled onto the bed in a single motion. Her emerald eyes stared up at the face of a man who was about to do the worst thing she could have ever imagined.
A hand closed around her throat with crushing force, cutting off her breath and any chance of fighting back.
'No… Please, no…'
She struggled with everything she had, but he was too strong.
"You're going to be my wife! I'll make sure you act like it!" he snarled, his free hand moving toward his belt.
In that moment, everything slowed down for Bonnie. She was losing consciousness—feeling weak, helpless, on the verge of being violated by this vile man.
She thrashed her hands, raked her nails across his face, kicked with everything she had. None of it worked.
She was losing. Part of her felt ready to give up—but then her eyes landed on the revolver on Caleb's belt, and she thought of every single time she had practiced with that same kind of weapon at the shooting range back when she was Samuel Calloway.
Her hands moved on instinct. She yanked the revolver from Caleb's belt while he was still convinced she was just flailing helplessly.
Bonnie pressed her thumb to the hammer and pulled it back. Then, with trembling fingers, she squeezed the trigger.
Bang!
The shot rang out. The recoil drove the gun back against Bonnie's chest as Caleb staggered away. His midsection began to bloom red.
But she wasn't done.
Bang!
Bonnie fired straight at Caleb's head, finishing it—in a flood of raw, brutal emotion that crashed through her entire body all at once.